


Should've Been a Cold One

by T Verano (t_verano)



Category: The Sentinel (TV)
Genre: Community: sentinel_thurs, Epiphanies, M/M, Sentinel Thursday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-10
Updated: 2013-08-10
Packaged: 2020-03-09 06:53:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18911797
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/t_verano/pseuds/T%20Verano
Summary: Jim has an epiphany.





	Should've Been a Cold One

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Sentinel Thursday challenge 123, 'Epiphany'

A fucking _cookie._

It could've been a beer. Should have been a beer. A nice cold Sam Adams, for instance. A Heineken. Or a goddamned Schlitz, even. Watching the top of the bottle flirting with his lips, disappearing inside his mouth, coming out all slick and happy. Hops, malt, a little preliminary sucking action to limber up the equipment — yeah, should've been a beer.

Or words. No hops or malt or five-percent buzz, no opening show with a longneck, but considering how much he talks? Yeah, it could've been words: just watching that mouth move, even when it's spouting total crap; watching the way those bullshitting lips move…

Or the way he tugs on that bottom lip with his teeth. That could've done it. Gets that bottom lip damp, puts little dents in it, makes it look like he's fresh from being chewed on. Makes it look like he _wants_ to be chewed on.

Or it could've been him running his tongue across his lips when he's thinking. Double whammy there, even without the teeth: guest appearance of a tongue you already know is as inventive as they come, is the one muscle in his body he really works at keeping in shape, and getting to watch it slide wet and welcome over those lips before it disappears back into that mouth. 

_That_ should've been it. 

Or even the way his mouth runs away from him when the shit hits the fan, the way he fast-talks himself out of trouble, even that could've done it. Wouldn't have been the way he fast-talks himself _into_ trouble, though — hell, no — and he does that as often as he talks himself out of it. But it could've been the way he says _"Jim"_ when you're hauling his ass out of whatever it happens to be this time, the way he says it like you're his fucking hero. 

Could've been any of those things. Should've been. Should not have been walking in the door and finding him on the couch with a stack of books on the cushions beside him and a box of overpriced cookies open on the coffee table, with crumbs all over the couch and a little cluster of them at the corner of his mouth, a little smear of chocolate on the edge of his bottom lip, a few flakes of coconut on his top lip, chewy little flakes of coconut, and you don't even _like_ coconut, not to mention how fucking candy-ass it is to finally be pushed over the edge by a fundraising Girl Scout.

"Jim," he says now, and his mouth looks better than ever, looks hungry for more. The chocolate's gone from his lips, and the crumbs and the coconut — and maybe you've been wrong about coconut all these years — and the way he's saying _"Jim"_ isn't the same way he says it when you're pulling his fat out of the fire, but it sounds pretty damn good anyway.

But there are crumbs on your shirt. Crumbs on the sofa, crumbs on the rug, and the lump under your left butt-cheek feels suspiciously cookie-shaped, You'll be finding goddamn crumbs all over the living room for weeks. 

It should've been a beer. Fucking Girl Scouts.


End file.
